#2, on the 4th.

A poem under construction is not a pretty sight.
There are piles of adverbs everywhere.
A pack of similes is arguing with the metaphors,
and the third stanza,
the sad one,
has disappeared entirely,
and we’ll probably get a call from a bar at 2 a.m.,
telling us it’s there, sobbing incoherently
about that cute blond couplet that was
cut from the poem two weeks ago.

A poem under construction is not a pretty sight.
That’s why we put the yellow tape up.
There’s nothing to see here,
nothing to gawk at.
Move along, move along.